Remembering Nathan

Nathan was six years old when I met him.

The blondest haired, bluest eyed, biggest hearted little boy you've ever seen. He and his three-year old brother, Dylan were adorable.

We met when I started dating my now husband, Ray--their absolute favorite uncle.

The first grandchild of the family, Nathan was the one who made Ray an uncle.  Born in his freshman year of college, Ray loved having a little boy to hang with.  Sunday dinners. T-ball games. Super hero drawings. Rough housing.  Nathan's presence showed Ray that even though he didn't grow up with a dad, it wasn't so out of the realm of possibility that he could be one...and maybe, a really good one at that.

When he was 7 years old, his uncle Ray moved 1,447 miles east to be with me.  Shortly thereafter, we asked Nathan and his brother to be ring bearers in our wedding.  And once again, he looked adorable in a tuxedo, dancing the night away on the reception floor.

Over the years, from afar, we watched as he grew up to be amazing...an academic force to be reckoned with, a star in every sport he played and a huge lover of his family and friends.  Every picture we got was of him smiling big with both his mouth and his eyes.  And most of the time, he was smiling at his mom, whom he loved to pieces.

On summer vacations to Disney, Colorado and Nevada, he was a daredevil...riding every roller coaster multiple times, cruising down the longest Alpine slide and maneuvering every water ride like it was his job...he was fearless and often, laughing the entire way.

About four years ago, we were on a run in Colorado.  As a newbie at running, I was huffing and puffing and he was indulging me as I tried to make my way down the trail alongside him.  He knew I was struggling to talk, so he slowed down and we watched the sun as I said, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"  He said, "I dunno know.  It's mostly the places I wanna go, not really what I want to be."  To which I replied, "You remind me in every way of your uncle, Ray.  So smart.  So fun and funny.  And so interested in seeing something outside of home.  I think you should see everything. "  And he said, "I hope to."

****
And so, it was the worst phone call to receive one week ago today, when we learned that Nathan had tragically passed away.  In a way that no one ever plans or expects.

Hours after we heard the news, we put my husband on a plane to get to his family as fast as he could.

And while my husband was flying, my three children and I sat in a circle and talked about Nathan being in Heaven.  With big tears in their eyes, they asked, "What is Heaven like, mom?"  Without words, I asked them, "What do you think?"

Claire (6) said, "I think it's a place where in a second, you get to have all of the things that make you happy like chocolate ice cream."

Sam (12) said, "I think it's a bunch of rooms that you go through.  The first one is where you get to revisit any part of your life you want, like sixth grade or fourth grade, and you get to remember everything.  Another room is a place where you get to say all the things you didn't get a chance to the people who have already gone to Heaven. And another, is where you just feel love."

Kate (10) said, "I think it's where you aren't sad or scared.  You're just free."

Every night for six nights while Ray was gone, we sat in a circle holding hands, praying for my nephew and their cousin, remembering mostly how happy he made us feel in our hearts.

****

Because Nathan's body was so healthy, he was able to donate all of his organs...a sheer feat of amazement.  There is a person walking around with his heart...another roaming the world breathing in through both of his lungs and a man who didn't have to go on dialysis because of his kidneys.

And while we are grieving a sadness that I never thought humanly possible, we are so grateful for the life that Nathan gave to the world--that will continue on for generations to come.

This picture is the last one we took of him, this summer while we were home in Nevada.  He was so happy to hold Claire and to hug all of us.  A hug that was tight and strong and enduring.  A hug that I cling to now and will take with me as I race 13 miles next Sunday on the day of his Celebration of Life.

From six to 21-years, I'm so, so grateful for the time I got to know you, Nathan.

You have made me a stronger person and have reminded me of what it means to live every moment.

Until we see each other in that room in Heaven...

I love you, Aunt Kelly